The Python Problem
by MissMelysse
Summary: Summer, 2393. Data, Zoe, Geordi, and Elizabeth are spending their annual holiday on Terlina III, and the two Starfleet officers have a problem to solve. (Just a future-fic piece of fluff inspired by a photo in my flash-prompt group on facebook.) Oneshot. CRUSHverse. Data/Zoe implied.


**Continuity note: This takes place about a year and a half before the final section of the one-shot "Before the Parade Passes By."**

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 **Stardate 70522.07**

 **(Saturday, 10 July 2393, 13:22 hours, local time)**

 **Harris-Soong Household, Terlina III**

Inviting Geordi to join them on their annual summer retreat to the planet she and Data called home had been an excellent idea, Zoe thought, as she watched as her husband, the first android captain in Starfleet, and his best friend, an engineer both by trade and by calling, bend their heads over the project that had taken over the dining room table.

Not that she didn't enjoy time alone with just Data, or with Data and their daughter. But at fourteen ("Fifteen in October, Mom!" the teenager would correct) Lizzie preferred to spend her holidays in her father's workroom (Zoe refused to call it a laboratory anymore) or baking in the sun on the shore of their lagoon, rather than actually interacting with her parents.

And that was normal, Zoe reflected. It was time that her daughter began to pull away. As she'd explained to her husband, teenage girls separate from their mothers during their teen years, so that they can forge new versions of their mother-daughter dynamic as young adults.

They'd provided Elizabeth a stable childhood, unconditional love, and support for almost anything she'd wanted to try. It was time to give the girl some space to make her own choices. Even if those choices meant that Zoe would likely spend half an hour slathering her daughter's skin with aloe gel because she'd 'forgotten' to wear sunscreen.

Zoe poured herself another glass of iced tea. On her way to the room that had become her office practically since her first visit to the house, and the planet, she lingered, gazing at the tableau before her: Two heads angled toward the drawing – on paper – in the center of the table, one with slicked-back brown hair, the other with close-cut nappy curls. Two pairs of hands – one pale gold, one dark brown – making changes to the sketch, or gesturing to punctuate a point. Two voices alternating in discussion.

They'd been at it for _hours_ , since just after breakfast (lunch had been served on the patio). Data insisted that the measurements for updraft and drag coefficients were crucial. Geordi countered that neither piece of information was at all helpful until they'd established basic mass.

"Is Elizabeth's wire spring toy still in the toybox in your closet?" Data had poked his head into her office, startling Zoe from her book.

"Her _Slinky_?" She accented the brand name her husband refused to use. "I think so; why?"

"Geordi and I require malleable metal in order to construct a wireframe model of the bir – "

"Stop right there, mister. I realize that you're absorbed in your puzzle, and I can't deny that I love seeing the two of you working on something together – especially something that doesn't involve saving the universe – again – but you are not using our dining table to build a wire bird. That table is teakwood, and easily scarred. Not to mention that it's an antique and an irreplaceable family heirloom." Zoe's tone implied that neither her husband or their long-time friend was irreplaceable, though both were, admittedly, approaching antiquity.

"We have an entire workroom full of computer equipment, plus a collection of computers and padds strewn throughout the house," Zoe continued.

"Perhaps a virtual model will suffice," Data responded diplomatically.

"Perhaps it will." Zoe's tone was firm, but she was certain her husband could detect the faint amusement coloring it even so. Super-android hearing, plus twenty-two years of marriage would allow that.

Dinnertime arrived. Elizabeth, who had inherited her mother's love of working with real food, had come in to help prepare their evening meal. "Go tell Dad and Uncle Geordi it's time to put away their toys now, would you."

"Sure, Mom."

The girl had returned a few minutes later looking perplexed. Well… more like perplexed and amused. "Mom, have you and Daddy been watching those ancient Monty Python vids again?"

Zoe's heart panged slightly at her daughter's use of 'Daddy' for her father. She'd become just 'Mom' instead of 'Mommy' over the last couple of years, which, again, was normal, but Data was still 'Daddy' half the time. Still, she was an actress. Schooling her expression into one of innocence was a long-honed skill. "Why do you ask, sweetie?"

"Because as far as I can tell, Daddy and Uncle Geordi are attempting to determine the average air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow."

Zoe laughed softly. "It's good for them to share a project from time to time. Our lives have changed so much over the years…" She let that thought trail off and favored her daughter with a conspiratorial smile. "Want to watch them go into a tailspin?"

Elizabeth had inherited the mother's sense of humor. "How?"

"After dinner, ask them if the swallow is African or European."

Mother and daughter were still laughing when Data announced that the table was cleared of their project and set for the evening meal.

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 **Notes:** Way back in original CRUSH, Zoe asked Data about the air-speed velocity of an unladen sparrow, referencing "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," and Data responded correctly. I've always wanted to do another take on that moment. A photo-prompt in a writing group I'm in provided the inspiration.


End file.
